


Wishbone

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Series: Wishbone [1]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Family Fluff, M/M, Puppy Play, Tasteful-ish Puppy Play, not bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse took one last good look at the man while they were still in the safety of Skyler’s driveway, before he had to like, essentially speaking, fucking lube up his hand with honey and fist a live hornet’s nest known as the Lambert-White-Schrader Thanksgiving dinner. And shit did Mr. White look sexy as fuck in that shirt. </p><p>Or, that Thanksgiving when there was more than one stray mutt, and some family assholes, and Jesse and Walt were still totally gay for each other and shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Just think of it this way,” Mr. White said. “With a toddler in one arm and a beer in his hand—who am I kidding? With a beer it _both_ hands—it would be nearly _impossible_ for Hank to take a swing at you. Parenthood has softened him. Really Jesse, you have nothing to worry about.”

Jesse tilted his head back into the headrest of the passenger seat of Mr. White’s Aztek that was still alive and kicking a good five years after its windshield was first shattered. The paint on this bad boy had sort of faded into an even _more_ awesome shade of well, more like Gerber’s Pear-Spinach flavor than the Pea Medley gunk he used to feed Holly when she was still too young for solid food. And with a solid dish of hot sweet potato casserole in his lap, he found it pretty fucking ironic that they were in the same old car while Hank’s red Ford truck was like displaying itself in Skyler’s driveway all shiny and shit like a fucking baboon’s ass.

“Still can’t believe there’s gonna be like a two-year-old, bald, mini-Hank fucking staring at me,” Jesse said, rolling his head to the side.

Mr. White looked at him funny over his glasses. “He’s fifteen months. And, what is that here on your neck?”

Jesse rubbed at the spot he knew Mr. White was talking about, hoping to blend the concealer in more.

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t in the mood to talk about this morning’s necessary makeup routine because outside of the bedroom, fully dressed, without the leash in his hand, Mr. White was kind of a softie about hurting Jesse. It would be a whole big, “You should have used the safe word, Son” like ordeal if Jesse went into now.

Mr. White narrowed his eyes a little though moved on. “In any case, I thought you _loved_ kids.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Just not ones whose dads tried to shatter my face in and then called me the ‘Queer Junkie’ for like two whole years.”

“I’m sure he’s past that,” Mr. White said, patting Jesse’s shoulder, not sounding sure at all.

But, it was like Thanksgiving and shit. Maybe Jesse could be a little more optimistic or whatever. It had been over two years since he’d seen Hank or Marie, and in that timeframe Hank had gotten a promotion, a new ride, and his wife knocked up twice. According to Skyler, her sister was like enormous right now, like six months deep into fetus-incubating, like a giant purple motherfucking balloon. Or that was at least how Skyler described her to Jesse last week when Mr. White and him went to that reading she did for her new collection of short stories. She had three collections published now and a lot of the most recent stories were about addicts and recovery and other shit he helped her out with. It was weird as fuck, but he kind of liked talking to Skyler. They weren’t sipping wine or picking out curtains together. She just didn’t hate him.

Jesse was the reason they jumped fucking ship on the Gustavo Fring Meth Liner from Hell. He had talked Mr. White out of the business with Hank’s beating and a shit ton of cash and the whole they’d already starting sleeping with each other thing as leverage. Mr. White had actually listened to him and they let Gale have the damn thing, walked away like they were slamming down their X-Box controllers after some douchebag totally cheated the whole game and they were fed up and like “You win, _Asshole_.” And Jesse knew that a part of Skyler appreciated that, like him getting them out before shit got too bad for their family.

And _shit_ , Jesse didn’t at all want to deal with Mr. White’s family today. It was nice outside. The weather was cool, sky blue as hell with this puffy marshmallow cloud-shit happening, and there was even a breeze coming in through Mr. White’s windows. Jesse just wanted to eat his meal like a true pilgrim: outside and ignoring the natives that he just swiped his food from. It was fucking patriotic and shit.

Jesse absently unbuckled his seatbelt and Mr. White unclipped his too. He smiled at Jesse, honestly looking like a sexy DILF in the swank-ass, dark navy button-up Jesse bought him a couple of nights ago “Just ‘cause,” which he’d said with a smirk and a long kiss, “I want you to fuck me in it.” Mr. White had worn just that when he got into bed that night, completely un-done and shit, had Jesse ride him while holding on to the sides. It was probably one of the more vanilla things they’d done recently, but Jesse had no complaints. They’d been fucking on the regular for five years, living together for four of them, and the sex was still as good as when they used to grind against each other in the lab before that jackass installed those fucking security cameras.

Sighing, Jesse unlocked his side of the car and Mr. White did his own door, and it was like he was matching Jesse’s pace, trying to make him feel better about all of this.

Jesse squinted. “You sure that it’s like okay that I’m here?”

“Absolutely,” Mr. White said. He motioned to take the casserole from Jesse, but Jesse shook his head. “Skyler was adamant that you come once Hank gave her the old Schrader stamp of approval. Trust me, Hank’s cooled off now. And, I promise you that I have no intention of becoming belligerently drunk this time.”

Mr. White chuckled with this like self-deprecating sort of smile, and it was nice knowing him and Mr. White were at a point where they could joke about shit like this. It took Mr. White around four months or so after they’d gotten out of the business to like come out to his family about Jesse, all like “Yo, I’m dating this dude, we’re like gay for each other, total _yes_ homo,” or like he said that shit in Mr. White-isms. Hank hadn’t been happy about it considering some of the bruises that son-of-a-bitch gave him had just finished healing. But, the family dynamics or whatever slowly—like slow-as- _fuck_ —started to get better and better until Jesse was invited to dinners and outings and even a week out to the Gulf.

He’d been with Mr. White almost two years when Frank’s task force found Fring and Gale’s lab, took down the whole fucking empire, even branch-out shit into parts of Europe that he and Mr. White didn’t know jack shit about. And Jesse was thanking god that there hadn’t been anything that to lead back to them. It was a huge fucking relief until about after about a month of Hank blabbing on about catching the great and mighty Heisenberg, Mr. White drank like two whole bottles of Merlot at the Schrader residence and puked up every slimy detail like a fourteen-year-old girl after her first Smirnoff Ice.

That was when Hank told Mr. White he didn’t want to see him or his “Meth-peddling, queer junkie boyfriend” anywhere near him or his wife or he’d turn them both in to the DEA on their “butt-fucked asses.” Jesse shook his head just thinking how so much homophobic bullshit could come out of somebody’s mouth that according to Marie was “Really a great guy, Jesse” and “Just give him a chance,” and “Oh, you know all of that macho stuff is just a front. He’s a teddy bear.”

Yeah, maybe he was a “teddy bear” enough to forgive Mr. White after six months or so. Jesse on the other hand hadn’t been able to celebrate a decent fucking full-day holiday with Mr. White for like the past three years.

“He’s not the only one you can talk to you,” Mr. White said.

Jesse wasn’t sure how the hell that was exactly a selling point.

“Oh yeah,” Jesse said. “I’m sure Flynn’s _dying_ to be around me. Dude would probably rather have Thanksgiving dinner with his like…fucking… I don’t know tenth grade math teacher.”

Mr. White frowned. “Dudley Perkins?”

“Who?”

“Dudley Perkins was Walt Jr’s mathematics teacher when he was a sophomore. What’s so bad about Mr. Perkins?”

Jesse widened his eyes, pressing his palm into his freshly shaven jaw, and made a “wow” shape with his mouth ‘cause Mr. White could be pretty dense sometimes.

“Yo, it’s like an expression or I was being metaphorical or whatever.”

“Oh,” Mr. White said with a bit of a sarcastic ‘tude. “I understand: teachers.”

And he made this exaggerated grimacing kind of face, which made Jesse laugh just like the guy thought it would ‘cause Mr. White was back teaching, now at the University of New Mexico and he was coming home exhausted but totally happy pretty much every day. He was the head of the Chemistry department and dealt with “Students who genuinely _want_ to be there. Can you even imagine such a thing, Jesse?” and they went to science conventions in Arizona and some of his students actually thought he was cool enough to get a couple of beers him with on Thursdays after their night class. Jesse always had a pretty hard time imagining Mr. White at a college bar.

“At least one of my children will be happy to see you.”

Mr. White jerked his head in the direction of the backseat and Jesse actually expected for the little blonde rascal to be there quietly giggling with her chin tucked down because the kid was pretty stealth for a five year old. But, no, it was just the miniature dollhouse he’d just finished sanding down and painting last night. It was bright orange, Holly’s favorite color, and about the size of a birdhouse. It was sort of the template Jesse was used to working with at My Bird is a Cage. He’d tried the whole college thing for about a semester but that shit wasn’t for him, though he’d made a contact with this dude in his carpentry class who hooked him up making wooden knickknacks and specialty birdhouses and shit for hipsters with cash to blow on fucking fancy birdhouses and who understood subtle Arcade Fire references way better than him. It was ridiculous, for sure, but Jesse loved doing shit with his hands, messing around with raw materials. And as long as he didn’t say something stupid again like “So, what the hell is an Instagram?” to his fedora-wearing co-workers, then he was golden.

A pair of blue jays flew pretty low by Jesse’s window, passing by the branches of the closest tree and Jesse sort of wanted to catch a ride and fly the fuck out of here. On the bright side, the house Skyler and Holly had moved into about a year ago was two stories, bigger than their old one, more places to hide. They had a dope patio and pool setup out back and a decent sized yard. The kitchen was _huge_. They even had two fucking living rooms. Skyler’s short story collections were selling like fucking Denny’s pancakes.

Jesse heard a door open and a happily screamed “Jesse and Daddy are here!” and soon Holly was flapping both arms from the threshold in a bright orange dress like she was trying to signal down a plane from a deserted island. Shit, he was already smiling and of course waving back. She made a move like she was going to go outside just as a white and light brown dog almost toppled her over and then Marie was holding them both back.

“Yo, who’s dog?” Jesse said, still waving.

Mr. White was waving and smiling too. “It’s Skyler’s. She got him about a week ago; named him Wishbone after the PBS series. He was a gift for Holly, though I actually suspect that since the divorce she’s really missed having someone shit all over everything.”

Jesse wasn’t expecting that at all, and he felt a little selfish ‘cause he hadn’t even considered how Mr. White might feel taking him back in with his family. He also like detected some resentment about a certain unanswered question he’d been asking Jesse recently. Mr. White could be sort of sensitive sometimes.

He grabbed the dude’s knee reassuringly and rocked it back and forth with a small smile. “You’re right, Mr. White, everything’s gonna be cool. There’s like no need to freak out about anything.”

“That’s great, Jesse,” he said through a grin, enthusiastically waving to his daughter and sister-in-law. “Now can we go inside? I’m starting to feel like I’m Miss fucking America.”

Jesse laughed and took one last good look at the man before he had to like, essentially speaking, fucking lube up his hand with honey and fist a live hornet’s nest known as the Lambert-White-Schrader Thanksgiving dinner. And _shit_ did Mr. White look sexy as fuck in that shirt.

Stretching himself across the console, he chastely kissed Mr. White and heard a thrilled giggling shriek from Holly along with “Come inside, Buddy! _I_ want to kiss you too!”

Jesse was snickering against Mr. White’s lips as Mr. White kissed him back more firmly, just a little open mouth, a peek of tongue ‘cause Mr. White always had to outdo him. But, the guy pulled back grinning, and the whole car smelled like cinnamon and sweet potatoes, and Jesse had a little girl waiting for a kiss. Maybe today wouldn’t _totally_ suck.

***

Walt was continually impressed by the kind of decorating Skyler was capable of with adequate financial resources at her disposal. The larger of the two living rooms in the house was very minimalistic: two armchairs, suede sectional sofa with a spacious footrest, and a recliner, which were all in varied shades of chestnut. Skyler had chosen maroon as a contrasting color, just accents of it here and there in in the trimming along the walls and the opened curtains and the bordering frame of Walt Jr’s photograph from his high school graduation that was over three years ago now.

The Henley Jesse was wearing beneath his unfastened long-sleeved denim shirt was fittingly the same hue and fitted to his slender body. Though, this one wasn’t nearly as thin as its grey doppelgänger that Jesse would come home in, smelling like sawdust and a hard day’s work. And Walt enjoyed licking the boy’s nipples through the translucent cotton, working them gently with his teeth, Jesse holding the back of Walt’s head and “Oh _fuck_ yeah, right there, Mr. White.” Jesse’s clothing was at times as tasteful as Skyler’s newfound interior designing. Work strongly “suggested” he dress in things like corduroys and solid tops and the occasional masculine scarf that despite Jesse’s grumbling of becoming “A bigger homo every day,” Walt found paired with the boy’s large, pre-existing collection of beanies extremely well. The look was refined, laid-back dressy like Jesse’s pomade-executed bedhead and pervasive stubble, honestly made Walt eagerly hard. On weekends and holidays, Jesse liked to burrow back into his hoodies and skull shirts and jeans. Though he opted for a less baggy pair for today, shaved this morning while listening to someone called Jay-Z, and his Nike basketball sneakers were a muted black canvas material.

Walt would have preferred watching the Phoenix Suns play over whatever college football game was on. It wasn’t at all basketball season, but Walt never was a big fan of the dumb brutality of football. And he silently commended Skyler on choosing to set the entertainment system a little off-center so that while everyone could see the television, it was less likely to draw everyone in and deter conversation. It was incredibly successful as everyone seemed to be talking to someone or other aside from Walt Jr. who was slumped back in the recliner with a Schraderbräu—god, Walt couldn’t get over that he had a son old enough to drink—and he hadn’t said a thing other than the score when Hank had jostled his shoulder and made some sort of joke about the opposing team’s offensive line that Walt comprehended nothing from.

It didn’t escape Walt that Junior had decided to sit as far away from him and Jesse as physically possible. He was attending his junior year at the Polytechnic Institute of New York University for a bachelor’s in Aeronautical Engineering even though Walt’s university offered the same classes all the way up to the doctorate level, not to mention the money Junior would have saved for being both in-state and having a relative on the faculty. But, Junior had been incredibly distant around him ever since Walt had come clean about his relationship with Jesse, even more so when he’d idiotically verbally bled himself out about almost all incidents Heisenberg and the Schrader grapevine had delivered every glistening drop down to Junior. The ensuing mess kind of exorcised the novelty of that persona that Walt had been remembering semi-fondly, helped him move on to his current profession, but had also driven his eldest away maybe permanently.

Speaking of the Schrader grapevine, Marie was settled on the plush footrest with one hand steadied on her lower back as most pregnant women tended to do with the other on her swollen belly that made her look like Violet Beauregarde mid-blueberry transformation in her blue-ish purple dress.

“…And my pregnancy hormones aside, I told the doctor I’d changed my mind and he’d simply have to deal with it. I mean, just because I made him sign a binding contrast stating he wouldn’t reveal the sex of my baby to me until he was literally pulling it from my body didn’t mean I couldn’t politely retract that while bulldozing through a bag of peanut M & M’s all while in stirrups. Am I right?” she said, laughing, looking around the room for some form of audience participation.

None was given.

Hank, in a black and white checkered bowling shirt and brown cargo shorts, appeared not to have heard her, past the ajar sliding glass door where he was deep-frying a turkey and grilling bratwurst. He’d even elbowed Walt a little earlier with a jeering, “Hope you guys are still into sausage.”

Sighing, Walt noted Skyler floating from room to room with refreshed beverages and clumps of stuffing and diced celery speckles on the backs of her hands and playing the part of a gracious harried hostess as well as she always had.

“Anyway, long story short,” Marie said, drumming her fingers against her stomach. “I can officially tell you it’s a girl! Can you believe that Walt? Our Hank Jr is going to have his own little sister just like Flynn. A big brother for tiny Esmerelda!”

“Over my dead body, Marie!” Hank shouted.

Marie gave Walt a tight smile, calling out to Hank, “Sweetheart, you know I can’t respond to that properly with Holly-girl in the room!”

Hank chortled. “Who ever thought there’d be a way to get you to shut up.”

Skyler glided in with her arms held out at her sides in surrender. “You guys, save some of this holiday love for around the table, alright? And maybe keep your voices down if you want Hank Jr asleep for over five minutes.”

“Y-you mean like how the dinner r-rolls were supposed r-ready five minutes ago?” Walt Jr. said.

Skyler gave her son a pointed look. “You want to get off your butt and help me?”

Walt Jr. shrugged and turned back to the television. “No thanks.”

It was then that Hank Numero Two, as his father liked to call him, started to wail and Marie hobbled herself up on her own, swatting off Walt’s attempts to help her before waddling towards the upstairs guest bedroom. He couldn’t exactly prove it per se, but she had warmed to Jesse much more so than she’d had to himself, and Walt suspected that her mild attraction to the boy was at least somewhat in play here. She’d even tried to get Jesse to hold Hank Jr. before her husband had swooped in and operated a quick exchange of his toddler son for the canister of Crisco he was lugging around, cracked a joke about showing his boy the ropes of the new grill, and escorted his wife outside where he not-at-all-subtly “whispered” loud enough for everyone to hear that he thought the dog would have been the only stray mutt joining them for dinner.

Said mutt was rolling around on his back, all four paws stretched out for attention, but everyone other than Holly seemed much too uncomfortable to pat him.

Jesse seemed to have been brutally correct in his assuming Skyler’s invitation had been done out of courtesy as apparently Walt was the only one who expected Jesse to show up. And even that had taken a great deal of convincing and breakfasts-for-dinners and spur-of-the-moment blowjobs on Walt's part.

Thankfully Jesse had little time for that wound to set it too strongly as he still had Holly in his lap. She’d practically leapt at Jesse, jumping on her bare toes in a flurry of orange dress that had an attached tutu-like skirt, which she’d picked out herself. She was relentless, not giving up until he picked her up, raining down kisses on his forehead, and “I’m _so_ happy you’re here, Buddy!” It was a moniker Jesse had given her as an infant and one she liked to use as well. And maybe if Walt had his own nickname, he would have received more than a brief hug around his leg and a breathy, rushed, “Hi Daddy,” before she wanted Jesse to lift her up again.

They’d spent the last twenty minutes or so with Holly giving Jesse detailed explanations of which dolls she’d put in the playhouse he, as she’d said, “Built with your own _body_?” Jesse was patiently listening, making quips and hand gestures that Walt was convinced only children and Jesse could understand and that made his daughter laugh without fail. When she’d moved past her gift, she started tickling Jesse, making the boy squirm because he was ridiculously ticklish, and Walt sincerely wanted his Thanksgiving to begin and end with just the members of this couch.

With Marie’s prattling absent and Skyler pretending to tidy up the coffee table while appearing simply beside herself watching this one-sided tickle-assault, Walt could actually hear what they were saying now.

Jesse gasped. “Yo, truce. Buddy, you’re gonna kill me.”

“ _No_.” Holly smiled, stopping anyway as she shook her head. “Hey Buddy, guess what?”

Jesse was still getting his breath back. “What?”

“Mommy gave me a doggie! Did you see him? He’s got spots and his name’s Wishbone like the dog in that show I watch sometimes on Mommy’s old casseroles”—

Skyler seemed to read Jesse’s puzzled expression, offering, “She means tapes, which she confuses for _cassettes_ , which she insists on calling _casseroles_.”

“Gotcha,” Jesse said over Holly’s shoulder.

She was still excitedly babbling away about how the dog was part Jack Russell Terrier and how the angels mixed him up with other kinds of doggies which made him so much bigger than a normal Terrier and how she wanted to teach him how to read like the real Wishbone.

“Wait, what do call him?” Jesse said.

“Wishy,” Holly said with a confident nod. “Because it makes him sound even cuter! Almost as cute as _you_.”

Jesse chuckled. “You’re _cuter_.”

“Nu-uh, Buddy.” Holly pressed her forehead into Jesse’s. “ _You’re_ cuter.”

This back and forth went on for a short while, and it may have come across as saccharine if it hadn’t been between a five-year-old girl and a thirty-year-old man who ate Wild Berry Pop-tarts on a weekly basis, who when pressed admitted _SpongeBob Square Pants_ was still one his favorite programs, who stayed up until one in the morning last night to carve the last few flower details into the porch railing for a dollhouse.

Walt even caught Junior glancing back a time or two.

“I got a question,” Holly said, making the same kind of pensive expression Walt had seen in the mirror many a times. “What do you call Daddy?”

“I uh…call him Walt,” Jesse said. He moved around a little under her steely gaze that was certainly all blue-eyed, resolute Skyler.  

“ _No_ , Buddy. You go, ‘ _Yo_ , Mistah White, where do I put the sweet potatoes?’” She widened her eyes before erupting into a giggling fit.

Jesse laughed so hard Walt could feel the back of the couch shake.

Skyler, giving up her cleaning ruse, took Marie’s seat and was laughing as well. “Holly, your Jesse impression is getting _so_ good. I think we might have a little Amy Poehler on our hands.”    

Holly craned her neck back. “Who’s that?”

“Leslie Knope,” Skyler said.

And whoever this was just _delighted_ Holly. “ _Ooh_ , I like her! She’s funny and pretty and nice.”

“Just like you,” Jesse said, wiggling his fingers under her chin.

“ _Hey_! I’m being serious here, Buddy.” She nodded to herself when Jesse took his hand back, but cracked a silly grin. “Do you call my Daddy anything else? Like you know how Wishbone has two names and Flynn has two names? I call Daddy, Daddy but…”

“You k-know, Holly,” Walt Jr. said. “I think you two b-buddies m-might have that in common.”

Selective-hearing Hank let out an approving hoot at that behind his spatula, Walt Jr. looking pleased with himself over his beer, and Jesse’s face tellingly flushed, lit up about as quickly as a touch-lamp.

“ _Junior_ ,” he said.

And suddenly everyone was looking at him like _he_ was the bad guy here.

“Flynn,” Walt said, trying to refrain from gritting his teeth. “Don’t confuse your sister.”

He glared at Walt. “Oh yeah, w-wouldn’t w-want to confuse anybody.”

Walt was speechless. He’d simply run out of ways to defend how much he loved Jesse as well as the means of explaining the nitty-gritty details of their relationship to his son. He could only say things like, “Absolutely _nothing_ happened between the two of us when he was my student,” and “No, he wasn’t a factor in the divorce,” and a much more shameful admission of, “He wasn’t why I started manufacturing methamphetamines” only so many times. He may as well have been talking to himself. So, he chose not to talk at all.

“What did I miss?” Marie smiled with Hank Jr. contentedly on her hip.

“Nothing n-new,” Walt Jr said.

He clicked up the volume on the remote, washing the room out in cheers and buzzers and five years’ worth of bitterness. And suddenly Walt found himself alone with a confused Marie, rubbing the back of her only moderately conscious toddler, mouthing a “What the _hell_ happened?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Skyler attempted to get her rain-rusted lighter to start to no avail, cigarette already wedged in the corner of her mouth. The thing wasn’t even sparking. She’d forgotten to hide a fresh one in this hide-away nook of her wooden fence facing the left side of her house where she also stashed a couple of packs of Wilmington’s. Bringing a jacket would have been wise as well because the wind had picked up and it wasn’t doing the November sun any favors or her ability to use a basic plastic Bic. God, she was shivering in her strappy dress. She had a good hour to an hour and a half of cooking ahead of her. Everyone was turning on each other. All she was wanted was a damn cigarette.

Flicking her thumb down brutally enough to scrape the surface layer of her fingertip off, she was reminded of those years she’d spent as a hostess when she’d stand in the alley between the diner and a Blockbuster for her smoke breaks and pretend she was oppressed and aproned Shelly Johnson from _Twin Peaks_ , waiting for rebel bad-boy-with-a-heart Bobby Briggs to whisk her away. No such luck.

“ _Shit_ ,” she muttered.

She felt something warm drape over her shoulders, startled until she recognized the denim sleeves and the young man smiling around his own cigarette dangling from his lips. He extended something flashy and metal that he snapped alive with a tremor and had them both set up with lit cigarettes in that effortlessly-cool-yet-nervous-energy way she hated to love about him.

“Thought you quit,” she said.

Jesse smirked affectionately and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Look who’s talking.”

Neither of them talked at all for a while, her back against the warm bricks of her house, Jesse leaning on the fence, the smell of peanut oil and sausage detectable even this far from the backyard patio. It had _not_ been her idea to deep-fry the Thanksgiving turkey she’d spent nearly half an hour picking out in Trader Joe’s. But, it had taken some serious negotiating on her part to get Jesse invited to this meal, and high cholesterol seemed like a small compromise if it meant Jesse didn’t have to spend another Thanksgiving eating the leftovers Walt brought back for him, sitting home alone because his own family had yet to forgive him for the drug use.

Skyler had mostly forgiven him. She’d even picked his brain for her recently released _Smoke and Mirrors and Meth_ , which was connecting with readers more so than she could imagine. Her publisher was practically fawning over it. At this rate, she would never have to act as hostess anywhere but her own home ever again and she was quite pleased with that.

Shutting her eyes against the calming presence of sunshine, she waved Jesse over. “It’s warmer over here.”

She could vaguely hear his tennis shoes in the grass and those prominent jutting shoulder blades thudding next to her and, “Yo, you wanna just chill out here for the rest of the day?”

Skyler snorted and picked a tobacco flake from her tongue. She opened her eyes to his closed as he ardently sucked back on his cigarette, looking disgustingly delicate and handsome in this lighting, and she was involuntarily thinking of how her ex-husband got a similar view on a most likely regular basis with Jesse on his knees. Skyler wanted to make assumptions about their sex life as little as she wanted to reflect on it, but it was hard to ignore how generous Jesse had become in the few years she’d known him and that probably transferred into the bedroom nicely for Walt.

And Walt had never looked happier. Things looked serious between the two of them. While it had taken a while for her, she was actually pretty okay with everything. It was hard to feel bitter when Jesse looked so completely enamored with Walt. Holly wasn’t the only one susceptible to Jesse’s infectious smile.

Looking back over at him, she noticed something splotchy along Jesse’s throat, just above his shirt. She licked her thumb as if to wipe it clean before she remembered she wasn’t his mother. Instead, she pointed to her own neck, looked a little closer at his as she exhaled another puff of carcinogenic-laced tension and then she knew what it was.

“Why are you wearing foundation?”  

“‘Cause I’m a total homo,” Jesse said, smiling, bringing one arm against his chest to rub it with his other hand.

It was still a little unsettling hearing him speak like that. But, she supposed after years of listening to such homophobic language and slurs and jokes from his friends and out of his own mouth, this was his means of grappling with this part of him now; that sarcastic front he wore over his vulnerabilities like a busy, metallic dragon-design hoodie.

“Do you want your shirt back? You look chilly.”

He took a drag on his cigarette and smiled a little brighter. “Nah, you rock it. That whole like dress-under-a-chambray-shirt thing is like really in these days. It’s a good look on you.”

Skyler thought she was too old to blush, but there was something very enticingly high school about smoking in secret, between brick wall and tall wooden fence, grass up to their ankles since she didn’t bother mowing here, and she could smell a pumpkin pie cooling somewhere close. Her cheeks felt tellingly warm and rosy. His eyes were so bright, face much too innocent for someone who used to do the things he’d done, and maybe he was on to something we’d he suggested staying out here for the rest of the day.

She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the phrase _chambray_ before. It sounds like a pretty chic way to describe denim.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been getting a lot of like fashion advice from a couple of dudes I work with. It’s kind of like a _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_ deal except—” Jesse chuckled, wiped at his mouth with the thumb of the same hand holding his cigarette, “—I guess it’s more like queer eye for the queer guy.”

“ _Yo_ , were these the same ‘dudes’ who tried to teach you how to apply foundation?” She touched his neck lightly.

But he moved back abruptly enough for her finger to pull against his skin and smudge the makeup, and there was the start of a straight line in Marie’s signature color underneath.

Part of her guessed that her instinct should have been to cover her mouth in shock, maybe gasp out his name and follow it up with “Is he hurting you?” Walt had been generally submissive between the sheets with only a few meekly proposed suggestions before the cancer. One had included a dog collar, Skyler had been completely against it, but it looked as if Walt had finally found his pup.

Skyler stubbed her cigarette out against the wall, took out another from the pack with her teeth, and leaned over for his lighter. “How does it feel?”

“Like my lungs are on fucking fire,” Jesse said, holding out the offered flame.

There was no ambiguity in what they were talking about. Maybe it would have been toeing across the line she didn’t want anywhere near if he hadn’t been so open with her about his addiction in the research process for her short story collection.

And his voice was raw and raspy and soft as he said, “But, in an awesome way. It’s like I get to feel all this good shit and be kind of out of it and like totally helpless like how it used to be with the glass. Except, he…uh, takes care of me. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a freak. Maybe it’s fucking awesome.”

Skyler always enjoyed the second cigarette more than the first, pulled on it strongly enough to get that stinging sensation in her throat and she unwillingly attempted to evoke the feeling of getting choked. It honestly held no appeal.

“Look, can we keep all this shit between you and me? It’d be pretty cool if you didn’t tell Mister—” Jesse stammered “—I mean, tell Walt about any of this.”

Skyler nodded, feeling the opportunity she had here was fleeting and she was too curious to leave it be. She was drawn to his answer like a slice of her strawberry rhubarb pie still cooling in the kitchen, wanting to cut herself a slice even though she knew it was too hot to eat unless she wanted the roof of her mouth scorched in molten hot fruit.

“Do you really…call him….”

The sliding glass door popped open with a whoosh and Marie saying, “Hank, have you seen Skyler?” and then a rustling in the nearest shrubbery.

They tossed their cigarettes, stomping them out just as two birds flew past, and they were both quietly chuckling. Throwing Jesse his shirt, she wordlessly let him know she was walking towards the front and he started for the back. Rearranging her hair from what the wind had done to it, she found the anxious response to flee gave this encounter all the more a hiding-under-the-bleachers vibe, and it was with someone her mother certainly wouldn’t have approved of, and maybe in the strangest of ways she’d found her own Bobby Briggs. Because without Jesse, she doubted Walt would have honored the divorce, and without the divorce, she wouldn’t have had that push to write again, and without that she wouldn’t have been living here. The kid deserved a lot. She was glad he was happy with Walt, regardless of what Jesse chose to call him. It was none of her business anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Hank could get a little freaked out by how much Hank Numero Two looked like him: squinting in the sun, drooling, opening and closing his fist for the closest sizzling bratwurst. With a few too many whiskey sodas in yours truly, they’d be dead ringers for each other, and despite what the head honcho M.D. said about differing developmental phases and all that mumbo jumbo, Hank didn’t like how his son wasn’t growing any hair yet. Male pattern baldness wasn’t really on the list of traits Hank wanted passing on, not that it ever hurt his game with the ladies.

Laughing, Hank bounced Junior a little on his side and silently thanked whoever was up there listening for such a rockin’ afternoon. It was prime grilling weather. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. With his own six-pack of Schraderbräu, now available at all local Trader Joe’s, and no one heckling him about his flip technique, Hank had no room to complain. Marie was checking up on him every once and while and he was getting a Snapchat here or there from Gomie living it up with his eight-hundred cousins in “Meh- _he_ -co,” but other than that he had a pretty sweet arrangement.

“Gonna be you someday,” he said.

Hank Numero Two didn’t seem quite impressed with the prospect of taking the old grilling reins, much more interested in gnawing on his own fingers. That didn’t stop Hank from picturing what it would be like once the kid was Flynn’s age. He hoped he would be able to drag him away from the T.V. long enough to share a couple of laughs and beers with his father. It was both exciting and shit-your-pants scary not knowing what kind of human being your own kid would grow up to be.

Popping his fifth beer open with just one free hand, he thought he heard a squirrel or something until he spotted the damn embodiment of everything he _didn’t_ want his son turning in to.

“Pinkman?” Hank said. “What in god’s name are you doing crawling out of the bushes? I need to shine a flashlight in your eyes? Check your arms for fresh track marks?”

The shit for brains actually looked guilty.

“No,” Pinkman said, scratching that mangy hair of his. “I…was…uh, you know, like just smoking a cigarette.”

Hank shoved his spatula under a row of sausages and smiled. “Hey kid, I was just pulling your leg. Don’t go pissing your panties. I’m off the clock.”

The door opened to his wife with a spit rag and a bottle.

“Don’t mind me,” Marie said.

She delicately took Hank Numero Two from him and scampered away with her heels barely making any noise, raising her eyebrows like she was radioing “Be nice” straight into his head. He let rolling his eyes act as his, “Over and out.”

“So,” Hank said. He was surprised the kid hadn’t bolted when Marie walked back inside, instead standing there with one arm around himself and one crossed over his torso to sit a hand on his shoulder. It was like he was a chick trying to cover up her hooters. “You into the thin, long sausages or really big, meaty-looking bastards?”

Pinkman didn’t even throw him a courtesy snort, acting like he was going to move right past him until Hank limply motioned him over.

“Don’t take everything so fucking personally. I’m talking dinner here. _Mostly_ ,” he said with a wink, tried to jokingly thump the kid’s arm.

Pinkman shot back with a glass-shattering flash. Thankfully just one bottle cracked on the patio tiles, and for Christ’s sake, all that shit was years ago. This kid was the most sensitive fucking dirtbag he’d ever met.

Before he could _maybe_ stop Pinkman from trying to pick up any sharp objects with fingers shaky like he was still tweaking out on something, Marie was dashing out again, shoving his son back into his arms, and she had the stuff swept up in a jiffy. Patting Pinkman’s back a little lower and with more lingering than he liked to see, she gave Hank “I’m watching you” eyes and was gone just as quick.

She actually gave the kid a damn glass of water. If Hank didn’t know any better, Marie might try to adopt Jesse one day. Either that, or make him her twink pool boy. His promotion to Chief had afforded them their own swimming pool. Though, the guy who cleaned it was a three-hundred pound Mexican so Hank had nothing to worry about.

“Sorry,” Pinkman said.

With that train of thought going on upstairs, for a minute Hank thought the shit stain was confessing to banging his wife. He even flicked the bratwursts over a little early.

“It was just like…muscle memory or whatever. You know, like reflex shi…stuff. I wasn’t acting out consciously or nothing.”

Hank made a dismissive grunt around his sip of brewski. Pinkman sounded like he was repeating the sort of Narcotics Anonymous feel-good shit they liked to give addicts to make them _feel_ better about themselves. He guessed the kid was still going to meetings, and while he was glad for Walt’s sake, he didn’t exactly want to crank up some Enya and start doing trust-falls out here.

Hank Numero Two was grabbing out with his tiny fist again, but instead of sausage, he was wiggling around and reaching out for Pinkman. Fuck if anyone under three feet didn’t flock to the kid. And maybe they in some sort of subconscious kid logic were drawn to him like a sick puppy, like he was some weak, twitchy, exposed blue vein, threatening to bleed out if pricked the wrong way.

He shook his son’s hand with his index finger and once Junior took note of his own fingers again, he latched back onto them, most likely preoccupied for a good half hour.

Hank checked on the fryer. “You ever think about adopting?”  

“Nah,” Pinkman said. “Not really.”

The turkey was turning out tanner than Marie’s poolside sunbathed gams.

“Glad to hear it.”

Pinkman was playing the quiet card again, so Hank glanced over to see him concentrating really hard on not barking back or biting him. He was sure Walt had the kid on his _best_ behavior. There was no doubt that Pinkman was on a short leash.

Hank held up his hand in surrender. “I couldn’t care less where you like to stick your sausage or where you like sausage stuck in you. I’m sure any kid would be lucky to have two dads. I just don’t think it would be fair considering you’re an addict.”

“Seriously?” Pinkman had his jaw out, mouth open, eyes narrowed. His grip on his ice water looked tight with that dumbass scorpion-thing standing out like some sort of sloppy graffiti. “Did you seriously just say that?”

“Speaking truth is what I’m saying.” He took another peek at the turkey, leaning into the smell of all good things in the world. “Forty to sixty percent of junkies wind up backsliding even with all that Kumbaya rehab stuff, and the numbers only get higher the stronger whatever smack they were on was. I’m not saying Walt should be watching you tinkle in a cup, unless that’s what you guys are into, but you gotta at least consider the statistics if you’re planning on raising a kid with that on your back. It’s just dangerous.”

With _his_ back to Pinkman, Hank heard him crack open the door and his ice clinking a little, and, “Says the dude holding his baby over a deep fryer.”

Hank realized his bonehead lapse, though Hank Numero Two was a good foot or two above the hot oil splash-zone, and heaved his son up higher on his side. Pinkman didn’t slam the door behind him, and it kind of bugged Hank that he’d left without any name-calling or crying or yelling. He’d actually been mature about it, taken the high road.

He took another slug of his beer. And yeah, for whatever harebrained reason, it actually ticked him off a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

Just how many fucking football games were going on right now? Jesse gave up counting after like five or so, flipped over to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and muted the hell out of a couple of announcer’s introducing the new _Frozen_ float. And yeah, while he sure as shit didn’t want to hear “Let it Go” again, he also just wasn’t really up for watching anything. He made off for the upstairs bonus living room because Mr. White was helping out with some sort of gravy explosion in the kitchen that was supposedly, “Under control” enough to not need his help yet serious enough for a mop and quarantining Wishbone in the laundry room. Plus, Jesse didn’t really dig sitting by himself while Flynn mean-mugged him over his shoulder. If Jesse was going to feel completely fucking alone, he might as well actually be by himself. And having the T.V. on would make it look way less weird if anyone walked in on him slouched against _the_ softest fucking couch with the most throw pillows on the planet.

He wouldn’t usually notice shit like this, but he just now realized everything in here was in the like opposite color scheme of the other living room. The couch was a dark red-maroon that matched the walls and a couple of chairs. Most of the other furniture was brown. Maybe it was being one floor up from all the fuckery of downstairs, but the A/C that got turned on to cool off the cooks and pregnant, hot-flashing Marie felt even better in this room. It was sort of chilly in a nice way though it probably would have been better with his long-sleeved shirt that he’d accidentally left on one of the armchairs downstairs. Shit, he’d be okay if it was fucking freezing up here if it meant he’d never have to hear asshat Schrader talk _ever_ again. Like where did that jackass get off on asking him if Jesse wanted to adopt? Hell yeah he’d thought about. But, the reason he wasn’t going to in like the near future was the same reason for why he’d as nicely as possible turned down Mr. White’s marriage proposal twice: Jesse was scared out of his fucking mind about staying clean.

While he hadn’t relapsed in over five years, he told Mr. White he wanted to like reach a certain marker before he could better convince himself that everything was all copasetic and shit. That marker was originally getting a steadier job after he spent way too long delivering pizzas, and then it had sort of vaguely been whenever he could be around Badger and his haze of pot smoke and not want a joint, and _then_ it had been his five year chip for staying sober. Mr. White had taken Jesse on a fucking four-day Alaskan cruise after that last one, kissed him in public for the first time while they were sitting by the pool, and _holy shit_ was sex even better when you had an endless supply of free cookies and cream ice cream and porn. Yeah, he was pretty sure _everything_ was better with an endless supply of free cookies and cream ice cream and porn.

But, Mr. White had kind of brought up the whole, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jesse” situation a few weeks ago and Jesse suggested they put a pin in it. He didn’t even have a legit reason to postpone this time, just that general terrified paranoia shit of not wanting to fuck something up that was already so good. The more Jesse thought about it though, the more he was thinking that letting Mr. White put a ring on it would just make things more awesome.

Right now, he kind of wanted his mind to fuzz out like a blank tape, like rewind most of the day, delete all the shitty stuff, and then he could just pause and settle in the jumpy static.

He shut his eyes and tried to synch his breathing up with the air-conditioner like it was water lapping against the side of their cruise ship in Anchorage and because he didn’t think it be the dopest thing in the world to have one of his fucking panic attacks right now. Pressing his thumb into the bridge of his nose, he tried to remember that thing his therapist was always saying. _Pudding brain_ …yeah, he was supposed to imagine his brain melting down into a pudding. It was supposed to relax him or some shit, release the tension he tended to hold in his neck and spine right before spiraling out and hyperventilating and stuff.

Jesse tried this mental exercise thing but Hank was still in his ear calling him a junkie, and really that was like telling some girl who got out of hooking five fucking years ago that she was still a slut. It was total bullshit. But, he just couldn’t shake the way it made him feel like there was this thick, heavy-ass pressure against his chest.

Then there really was _something_ against his chest and he could hear somebody chewing real loud and a sweet little chuckle.

“I found you, Buddy,” Holly whispered with a mouthful of bread. She rubbed her nose against his. “You’re kinda invisible though because your shirt matches the sofa.”

She was heaped in his lap like a happy, orange tutu-wearing cupcake.

“Yeah, I was really going for the invisible look,” Jesse said, laughing. “But yo, where the heck did you find food?”

She giggled and cupped her mouth, still whispering. “Promise not to tell?” She waited for him to nod first. “When Daddy accidentally spilled all the turkey juice on the floor and Wishbone tried to help clean it up with his mouth and everybody was running all around all crazy, I got on one of the chairs and _took_ some of the dinner rolls. I know it was bad but they’re _really_ good! I got you one too.”

Jesse hadn’t noticed she had his dollhouse next to them and sure enough there was a glazed roll inside the little sea foam green kitchen area. He picked it up and wolfed down the warm, buttery thing in like three bites. All he’d eaten today was one Wild Berry Pop-Tart this morning, so he was fucking starving.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Holly said. Her eyes were as big as his appetite. She tore into another section of her own roll, shifting it behind her cheek to talk. “You must have been _very_ hungry. Does your tummy hurt?”

She swirled her hand around his belly button and it felt nice even though Mr. White liked to give him belly rubs under _way_ different circumstances that included shit totally not kid appropriate. But it wasn’t like it bothered him or nothing. He didn’t know why it was so hard for some people to understand that like the human mind could enjoy something in two completely different ways when that was so obviously possible. It was like two different compartments in your brain or like two brains, like just ‘cause you spank your wife or whatever in bed doesn’t mean you’re thinking about that kind of shit when you spank your kid for throwing a tantrum in Target. Jesse wasn’t really down for corporal punishment or whatever, but that wasn’t really the point he’d sort of been trying to make to himself ever since Flynn’s “Daddy” crack from before.

Jesse squinted. “No, my tummy’s all good, yo. Why?”

Holly popped the rest of her stolen loot between her lips, covering them up with her hand very lady-like for someone who ate with her mouth open. She used the back of her wrist to wipe off the crumbs.

“You looked sad when I saw you and I thought maybe your tummy was upset,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “ _Jesse_ , was somebody mean to you? ‘Cause I’ll tell Daddy for you if you want me to.”

Jesse felt a spasm somewhere deep between his ribcage and tried to keep his shit together.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m just hungry.”

Holly cupped her chin, looking off in the distance like the way Mr. White sometimes mulled things over. And the resemblance there was somehow making Jesse feel better and also like hardcore miss the guy even though the dude was just downstairs.     

“If Mommy is in the pantry drinking more of her grape juice then maybe I can push my big girl stool up to the figerator… _and_ get us some ice cream!” She smiled wickedly. “It’s Flynn’s cookies and cream, and even though birthday cake is _my_ favorite flavor, cookies and cream is _your_ favorite so it’d be like… _perfect_ , man.”

Holly raised her arms like she was just in awe of her brilliance, wide enough to stretch out the top of her orange dress, and there was no doubt at all that she was Walter White’s daughter.

Jesse bopped her on the nose. “You mean you’d go and _take_ something even though you don’t like it that much?”

She nodded totally like matter-of-factly and snatched up another dinner roll from her dollhouse and placed it in his hand. “I was gonna save this one but I think your tummy needs it more than mine.”

 _Shit_ , Jesse was _not_ gonna start crying.

He sniffled. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Holly smiled with that kind of like peace to her he’d only seen in little kids. She gently touched both of his cheeks and looked him right in the eyes. “I love you, Jesse.”

This shit was immediate. Jesse was crying. He was sobbing really, pulling her in hard enough for her to make this surprised “ _Oh_ ,” fingers digging into her back. But, she didn’t try to leave.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. She was sort of mashing the palms of her hands into his hair, like pushing it off the sides of his face and petting him. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

Then she was holding on just as tight as she rubbed his back, making these comforting little “shh” sounds, and she smelled like this small, warm ball of laundry detergent and dinner rolls. And he wasn’t even sure how long she let him just bawl his eyes out like that, but she could probably sit still with more like patience than his actual full-grown adult friends.

He was starting to chill out a little when he felt her lean back and whisper to someone over his shoulder, “Come hug him with me.”

And before Jesse could self-consciously wipe his eyes dry, ‘cause Marie would never let him live this down and Skyler would want to talk about it, Mr. White had an arm braced on the back of the couch, giving him a sad sort of smile.

Leaning down, he kissed Jesse on the forehead and then Holly’s and then he pressed another kiss against Jesse’s temple. Holly kissed Jesse on the cheek at almost the same time. Jesse couldn’t even describe how he was feeling right now.

“There room for me?” Mr. White said.

They both nodded, scooting down for the guy who added awesome big arms and his own turkey smell to the mix. Jesse had warmth on both sides, one big and one small hand rubbing up and down his arms, Mr. White’s goatee against his neck, and this was pretty perfect.

“Hey, Daddy,” Holly murmured into Jesse’s shirt.

She had a snug grip on him like she was squeezing a stuffed animal and Jesse was sort of melting like butter glaze in the embrace.

Mr. White grazed his lips against the back of Jesse’s neck. “Yeah, Holly.”

She seemed to wiggle a little. “I know Jesse is your boyfriend, but I think he’s the cutest boy in the whole world.”

“You think so too?” Mr. White said.

Holly laughed, and Jesse could feel her nod against his chest, and never once in his damn life had he’d been more fucking happy having people talk about him with him in the same room.

Mr. White seemed to be looking at something on the sofa. “Jesse, Skyler has been watching those rolls like a mother hen. How on earth did you get one?

Holly sort of held her breath for a second, her eyes big again before she was full-on giggling. Jesse could feel it tickling him all the way up and down his body. And my god, did Jesse love this kid.


	5. Chapter 5

Walt had never before experienced a hug this prolonged that was so ardently pure and content. And maybe on a biochemical level his body wasn’t used to it, because after several minutes of simply adoring Jesse, Holly wriggled her way out of their warm encirclement around the boy with a snicker and said, “You guys are hugging like grownups.” She was sitting on the far end of the couch when Walt noticed that Jesse’s body was indeed angled more towards him, nearing his lap, and Walt’s hands had naturally fallen to rest a little lower around the boy’s hips. Jesse was no longer teary, face just barely ruddy as he snuck him a small peck that made Holly snicker again as she feigned watching the parade.

There may have been just a few more stolen, innocent kisses, all with the sound of his daughter delightedly laughing, before he had to tag Holly in for more Jesse duty while he retrieved refreshments. And in this house he should have expected that if he left for beverages, he’d also bring back Marie who heatedly whispered, “ _Walt_ , don’t leave me here with Grill-Master Hank and Grumpy Mc Football!”

So while Jesse asked for a Coke, he got a mini-party along with it. Of course Marie brought Hank Jr. in, and at some point Wishbone followed along. He was actually extremely well-behaved for a two-year-old rescue-dog, affectionate, and unusually trained. According to Skyler, Wishbone could fetch anything as long as you let him sniff the object first, regardless of whether or not he witnessed you actually throwing it. The dog had helped her find missing mates for her socks, would pick up Holly’s clothes from the floor after she’d streak down the hallway for her bath while yelling, “I’m going in!” and Skyler had even taught Wishbone to associate “run” with her jogging sneakers.

Walt had somehow, post-Daddy-comment and subsequent living-room-mass-exodus, committed himself to garnishing Jesse’s sweet potato casserole with extra walnuts, then putting together the evening’s not-so-appetizing kale salad, and stirring gravy for a near eternity. That had ended quite poorly though of no fault of his own. But, being stuck in the kitchen was a little more bearable with Wishbone keeping him company. He’d also had the dog fetching him odds and ends around the room because it really was remarkable that after only one, “Dishtowel, Wishbone” and a visual aid, he’d retrieve a matching one hanging from the refrigerator door.

Skyler had been in and out of the kitchen, and the first time she’d come back in after appearing to have been outside considering the windswept state of her hair, Walt instinctively knew she’d been talking with Jesse. She smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and his crisp, clean, cinnamon-spiked body spray and she seemed much less frazzled in the demeanor many people possessed after spending any length of time with the boy. But, that also meant Jesse was most likely smoking, which he only ever did when he was truly stressed. He knew he needed to look for Jesse as soon as possible, anxious for the boy, and that had most certainly contributed to him idiotically upturning a pot of gravy from the stove.

Sipping on his second, no third, Schraderbräu of the afternoon, he was vaguely regretting it considering he hadn’t had breakfast in ages and Skyler had literally slapped his hand away from the bread basket. He was only moderately buzzed. The television was on a respectable volume as everyone seemed fairly content watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“ _Wishy_ ,” Holly said. She was raising a blonde doll above her head. “Doll, Wishy.”

Wishbone’s eyes darted around the room before he turned and found the doll’s brunette friend. Taking it by its fabric leg, he delivered it promptly to Holly who patted him with a flat palm on top of his head and a “Good boy, Wishy.” She was then absorbed in her new dollhouse and Wishbone wandered over to sit back on his haunches in front of Walt.

The dog’s eyes were a fairly abnormal hazel color and they really seemed to _watch_ you. Walt hunched over to pet him, scratched his ears, and under his chin.

“ _Good boy_ , Wishbone. Yes, who’s a _good boy_? Who’s a _good boy_?”

He was soft, almost like a kitten and Walt hadn’t heard him bark once all afternoon.

“Can you shake, boy?” Walt extended his hand and Wishbone instantly raised his. “ _Good boy_. Can you shake with the other? Oh, _good boy_.”

Asking for the first paw again, Walt was unaware of Jesse pawing himself over a steadily growing collection of throw pillows to his lap.

Jesse couldn’t believe how fucked up this shit was. And he didn’t understand how Mr. White didn’t know what he was doing. Like any other time, Jesse wouldn’t have had a problem like compartmentalizing stuff in his head, keeping real world and bedtime shit on opposite ends of his brain, but it seemed like that separation had a few fucking loose screws. And Jesse didn’t even care if he had enough cushions around and on top of him to make it look like he was building his own one-man fort ‘cause he was sure as shit starting to pitch a tent and he didn’t want anybody knowing it.

Jesse thought closing his eyes would make it better, but no, that just made him focus more on Mr. White’s deep voice that was somehow both rough like woodgrain and as smooth as his first sip of hazelnut coffee in the morning. Mr. White was like really emphasizing the way he said _that_ phrase that guaranteed Jesse a hard-on no matter what. And each time he said “ _good boy_ ,” Jesse could feel his cock swell and swell and swell, pulsing like an opened vein. The words just like clung to him, feeling like sweat heavy and warm, rolling down his chest and between his thighs. He wanted to tell Mr. White to stop, but his body was so used to not being allowed to talk when he felt like this that it was almost like he really didn’t know how. ‘Cause when Mr. White held Jesse’s leash and said, “Sit, boy. Roll over. _Good boy_ , you’re ready for your belly rub,” as Jesse laid there naked with a stiff prick dribbling on his tummy, Jesse was forbidden to speak and that was like A-Okay with Jesse. He wasn’t lying when he told Skyler that it felt good letting go and having Mr. White in charge of _everything_ , especially his orgasms, while Jesse got to soak up all this fucking pleasure just showered down on him.

“You’re a handsome pup,” Mr. White said.

Jesse had to suck his lower lip in between his teeth just as he felt a burst of pre-come slide down his shaft.

“Good, handsome boy.”

Jesse licked his lips, another droplet puddling up at the slit and slinking down, his jeans _way_ too tight though the inside of his boxers felt kind of good pressed into the wet head of his dick. And thinking about nothing, mind going almost blank the way it did when they played this game, he barely titled his hips up into the weight of the pillows and almost fucking blacked out. The friction was fucking awesome. He _needed_ it again, so he did it _again_.

Walt only noticed Jesse’s movements when he set his beer back down on the table by his elbow and felt the couch shift forward a little.

The boy was _covered_ in pillows, dopey look on his face with his eyes closed, and even though it was nearly imperceptible, Walt’s habit of fixatedly ogling the boy allowed him to see Jesse lift his rear just barely above an inch and gently undulate his crotch against the pile on his lap.

And it was like Walt could feel the beer foam evaporating from in front of his eyes, taking into context where his hand was scratching Wishbone behind the ear, recalling the mantra he’d fallen into so innocently.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Walt said in a hushed tone, eyes on Jesse, wanting this confirmed.

Jesse ran his tongue across his lips and grinded forward again and there was certainly nothing innocent about that.

Taking an inspective survey of the room, Walt was relieved to see Marie fussing over Hank Jr. while Holly was still rearranging her toys and idly combing her hair out with her fingers. Walt was mildly ashamed that Jesse was doing what he was doing in a place like this, but he’d fondled the boy enough in some, well…semi-public settings. He guessed he was somewhat at fault here; poor training.

_Training?_

_Oh..._ Walt could have fun with this.

Leaning across Jesse as if to pick lint from his shirt, Walt thumbed each nipple through Jesse’s Henley, pleased and moving on once both little buds hardened at his touch. He lined his mouth up to Jesse’s ear and made absolute sure no one was looking.

“ _Bad_ boy,” Walt whispered. Jesse’s eyes fluttered open. “You know you’re not supposed to do that on the couch; bad, _bad boy_.”

Walt lifted the cushion on top amid the five or so there, pleased when Jesse gulped with his gaze dutifully following the pillow as if to…fetch it.

This was too easy.

Walt grinned, giving Wishbone the opportunity to get a really _good_ sniff of the throw pillow, waiting until the dog seemed ready for his next command.

“ _Pillow_ , Wishbone,” Walt said.

And just as expected, Wishbone gingerly snatched an identical one from Jesse’s lap and ever- _so_ - _slowly_ pulled it from Jesse’s knee.

 _Oh fuck_ , even through the denim Jesse could feel the air-conditioning on his sticky skin like it was seeping into the fibers. Wishbone got another “ _Good boy_ ” for his little trick and then Mr. White was telling the dog to do it again. And _shit_ Jesse felt like he was frozen in this nightmarish wet dream like the kind he had when he was in middle school and didn’t totally understand boners yet and everything was kind of scary and damp and awesome, and sometimes he’d wake up like halfway through feeling dizzy as he clamped his thighs around his pillow and rocked into it until he made a mess.

Jesse was about to make a big slippery mess if Mr. White didn’t stop, and it didn’t look like that was going to fucking happen. Maybe Jesse didn’t want it to stop ‘cause it was so fucked up and naughty and dirty. Jesse was naughty, wanted Mr. White to say it to him just as much as he wanted to hear how good he was. And all of this was under a layer of panic and the urge to get the hell out of here ‘cause it was still messed up. He was losing his cover quickly too. It didn’t take this brainiac dog long at all until there was only one cushion on his lap that Jesse was like _super_ subtly brushing his aching dick against, rocking back and forth about as subtly as a low-setting throb of a vibrator.

“You know, these parades cost us taxpayers zillions of dollars,” Marie said.

Jesse’s eyes popped open and like _thank god_ no one was staring at anything but the T.V. other than Mr. White and Wishbone. The dog had his head titled, tongue hanging out, looking just out of his mind happy and guiltless waiting to expose Jesse’s erection to the whole damn room. Jesse’s arms felt useless, lying there numb and it wasn’t like Mr. White usually let him use his hands, so Jesse was fucking acting on like pre-set impulse here.

Dipping down, he closed his teeth around the edge of the pillow and bit down completely. The fabric was softer than the rope he and Mr. White used though sort of scratchy on his tongue. Even though he only needed to like breathe a little to get the kind of friction he wanted, he couldn’t help but gently tip up into the pillow. And he wanted to both squirm away and press in even deeper with how damp his boxers were. Mr. White was leaning towards him again.

“You want to play too?” Mr. White whispered.

Jesse groaned around the cushion, cock leaking out another slick, thick, spurt, and Wishbone wagged his tail.

Walt honestly couldn’t believe the state Jesse appeared to be in. It was astounding really how his words could entrance the boy, and it wasn’t as if Walt were immune to this tremblingly aroused sight in front of him. While he wasn’t stimulated below the belt, not hard in the slightest, it still fed something else deep inside of himself like a starving animal. Jesse was his.

“Dinner’s ready!” Skyler shouted from somewhere indistinctly downstairs.

Jesse let go of the cushion as if Walt had warningly ordered him to “ _Drop it_ ,” as the hungry herd of his family members plus canine hurried by without even a glance at the two of them.

And Walt waited until he could no longer hear the muted sounds of footsteps and they were long gone and he and Jesse were truly, respectively alone with each other before he slowly lifted the very last obstruction.

“ _Jesse_ ,” Walt gasped.

He wasn’t prepared to see Jesse _so_ rigid and straining in his pants. It looked _painful_. The boy’s erection looked _thoroughly_ engorged with want. Though, Jesse was arching his back now, lifting his pelvis like he was proud of it, showing off.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Walt said.

Jesse whimpered and Walt knew it was time to lean in closer. In route to Jesse’s shirt, Walt received a quick lick on the cheek before the boy was nuzzling into the crook of Walt’s neck. If circumstances were different, they’d both be completely stripped at this point in their playtime. But even withdrawing Jesse’s erection was a little too risky in their current setting. Instead, Walt just barely raised the bottom of the boy’s shirt.

Jesse was long due for a belly rub.

And his soft, slim tummy was as flushed as his face as Walt circled his hand hypnotically. This may have been Walt’s favorite part: soothing and massaging the boy’s skin until Jesse was quivering, begging, and being _so_ good for him. And Jesse whined again after a solid minute of these ministrations, Walt’s palm now the same balmy temperature as Jesse’s chest. Jesse was desperately raising himself up, eager for more contact, eyelids dazedly droopy.

Walt lowered his hand and let it hover above the zipper before coming down with the lightest of touches and petting Jesse.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Walt murmured.

He stroked him again, a little harder, and he could actually detect a new bead of moisture drip on to his fingertips even through the denim.

Finally he cupped Jesse, threading his fingers into the crotch of his jeans like he was running them through the hair on Jesse’s head, and tightened around his shaft and waited.

Jesse didn’t disappoint.

Almost panting, he seemed to brace his feet more heavily on the carpet and began to hump Walt’s hand like a good, eager, horny boy. It was sloppy and frantic and so beautifully Jesse. The boy felt _impossibly_ stiff.

Walt whispered, “Come, Jesse.”

And Jesse whimpered so sweetly, eyes sealed shut, soaking the crotch of his jeans and riding it out until the mark seemed to stop spreading in a darkened navy ameba-shape.

The boy hadn’t even begun to breathe regularly before he was tearing up and burying his face against Walt’s chest and this was just par for the course. Walt wasn’t being heartless. He’d been sleeping with the boy for over five years. He knew Jesse’s post-orgasm habits about as well as his own.

Walt clapped the boy on the back and kissed the crown of his head. Jesse was practically radiating satisfied heat, and with Walt tipsy, it was hard resisting the urge to curl up into Jesse, downy and rosy, for a nap.

“Shh,” he said. He rubbed him between the shoulder blades. “You’re okay. That was a big one, wasn’t it? A good one?”

Jesse nodded, circling his arms around Walt, and clutched on tight, which was a favorable sign. However, he looked mildly perturbed a few seconds later once the hug had done its job.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Walt said.

Jesse blinked. “You mean how I got like a giant wet spot on my crotch?”

“No,” Walt said patiently. He knocked his knee against Jesse’s, trying to lighten the mood. “Do you want to tell me what upset you earlier?”

Jesse scoffed a little. “Hank was just acting like an asshole as usual. We can talk about that later, ‘cause, you know, I’m for real kind of more interested in discussing how it looks like I pissed myself. And also thanks a lot for helping me get jizz on my pants for my first Thanksgiving with your family.”

Okay so maybe Jesse was being like a little harsh since he’d just come hard as fuck, so intense his heart was still like fluttering like he had a couple of hummingbirds butt-fucking each other all crazy inside his chest. But what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Mr. White at least had the like decency to seem sort of guilty.

“Can I make it up to you?”

Jesse’s brain did this thing where it liked to make like _super_ important decisions at the most random fucking times. So, he didn’t even need to consider his answer.

“I want you to fuck me tonight,” Jesse said, smiling. But that wasn’t all. God, Jesse had been ready to say this for so damn long that maybe it didn’t matter that it was getting said in a maroon bonus living room. “I want you to shove the ring you’ve been hiding in your work desk on my finger and fuck me. I want…I want to fucking marry you ‘cause you’re a sick son of a bitch and I love you.”

Mr. White seemed pretty fucking shocked. He looked like Jesse just told the dude he was pregnant. It took like _way_ too long before he was kissing Jesse. He pushed Jesse against the back of the sofa, cradling Jesse’s face in his hands, kissing so hard it almost hurt. And yeah, it made Jesse feel sort of weightless, boneless, and fearless, but none of that was going to solve his waltzing-up-to-the-table-with-a-come-stain problem.

And then Mr. White was acting like he wanted to stand up, so Jesse pulled him in closer by his navy button-down.

“Jesse,” Mr. White said with a chuckle. His lips were swollen and licked pink. “As much as I’d love to, we can’t stay up here and make out on the sofa all evening.”

Jesse kind of smiled at that because even though it sort of made him and Mr. White a couple of handsy teenagers, they’d for sure spent who even knew how many Saturdays stuffed with waffles and bacon, a little clammy under their sweat pants from shower sex, with Mr. White on top of Jesse on their couch, whatever show they were watching forgotten, just kissing for as long as they wanted.

Mr. White actually _did_ stand up this time.

“ _Yo_ , where are you going?”

“Downstairs, of course,” Mr. White said. He was smiling. “I’m going to tell them. Hell, I’m going to tell _everyone_. I mean, Jesse we’re…we’re…enga—“

“ _Mr. White_ ,” Jesse said, making a broad motion towards his pants.

The guy just kind of stared for a while. He ran his thumb absently against the base of his chin. This smug little grin appeared on his face and Jesse had no fucking clue what the guy looked so damn devious about.

Mr. White dipped his face down. “Would you like Daddy to make you a plate?”

And _fuck_ it wasn’t fair for the dude to shift from one of Jesse’s kinks to the other like he was flipping from one free Playboy channel to the next.

“No way,” Jesse said. He was frowning at Mr. White even though his prick was twitching a little. “It’ll seem like I’m pouting or something. I might as well eat in the damn Pontiac if I want people thinking that.”

 _Oh_ , Walt had it.

He was actually capable of thinking of something other than the elated screaming of “Jesse said yes!” that was playing in a manic loop in his head. Jesse was going to _marry_ him for god’s sake. And with everything a little of its rocker today, Walt enjoyed the familiarity of being one step ahead of Jesse.

Walt smiled so big he supposed Jesse had no choice but begrudgingly smile a little too.

He gripped the boy’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”

***

Making crystal meth with his ex-chemistry teacher had turned Jesse’s life into a shit show for a while, but it definitely had its upsides too. ‘Cause half a decade later, he and Mr. White were still crafty as fuck.

The dude actually remembered they hadn’t unpacked all of their stuff from their cruise in Alaska, snagged Jesse a clean pair of jeans from the car, and made the swap without anyone knowing the difference.

Soon enough Jesse was loading his plate with turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes. He’d had a good amount of meals in this dining room before but the toasted-marshmallow paint on the walls and that chandelier-looking thing kind of felt homier with a couple of unscented candles and a wicker basket centerpiece and people actually giving him props for his sweet potato casserole. He was also super grateful that he was sitting on the end of the table closest to Mr. White and Holly. She was not so discreetly trying to slip more dinner rolls down the front of her dress, Skyler attempting to stop her while she cut up Holly’s green beans, and Marie was feeding her own kid something super healthy out of a jar.

Jesse had always liked this table because it was big enough to where you weren’t knocking elbows but still not so huge that you couldn’t hear everybody. It was still a little too small for Flynn to be avoiding eye contact with him as like hard core as he was. He was also seriously the _only_ one paying much attention to Hank not so surprisingly like dominating the shit out of the conversation as he was going on about some heroin sting operation in Colorado. Everyone was kind of listening though mostly just shoveling in as much food as they could fit on their forks.

Mr. White was giving him knowing eye rolls and grinning and being an overall nerd.

That nerd was his fiancé now.

And yeah, Jesse was pretty psyched about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much for all of the comments and kudos :)


	6. Bonus Scene 1

Walt waited until dessert had been served, everyone sufficiently stuffed, Skyler’s organic coffee aromatically brewing with notes of caramel and vanilla coming from the kitchen, before he gently held the back of Jesse’s hand cupping his glass of Coca-Cola. Jesse was absently thumbing at the condensation, looking somewhat jittery and awkward in that post-meal lull where small talk had expired and Marie had run out of ways to backhandedly compliment Skyler’s pumpkin pie and suddenly playing with whipped cream and a spoon was an acceptable pastime for individuals over the age of five. The only member of the family who _was_ five years old was actually _inhaling_ her tower of whipped cream instead of spreading it across the top of her slice like shaving cream on a man’s face in a barber shop in the manner Hank seemed to be treating his large helping of strawberry rhubarb. Walt had opted for baked fruit over whipped pumpkin, while Jesse had gone with the latter, but he’d been generous enough to keep his glaring discreet when Walt may have snagged a bite or two or four.

The boy’s hand was a little chilled from his drink now and Walt rubbed his palm against the prominent knuckles there and gave Jesse a light squeeze.

He looked over at Walt who only needed to smile a certain way for him to easily read his nonverbalized question. It was a gift of Jesse’s really. He could be extremely sensitive and observant when he wanted. And it was not at all an unpleasant quality to have in a partner. Jesse knew when to be chatty with him after work and when to greet him silently with a scotch and a nice long head massage. Walt even had a somewhat unproved theory that the boy knew when Walt was going to orgasm well before he himself did, was ready for the moment with an arched, sinewy back or his tongue swirling just right around his cock or perhaps a perfectly timed, gravelly, filthy “ _Daddy_.”

Right now, Jesse gripped his hand back, giving him the okay for his announcement.

Walt set his fork down with a loud rattling clink he hadn’t intended. Jesse snorted. Everyone else glanced up from their pie. Well, it had everyone’s attention. It worked.

“I…wanted to share with everyone the…news that,” Walt said.

Was the room suddenly warm? The navy shirt Jesse had recently purchased for him felt a smidge too tight. He hadn’t felt this kind of anxiety speaking in front of an audience since his first day in the classroom circa 1994 with an overhead projector and a stiff sports coat and loafers that were a size too large.

Walt held onto Jesse’s hand a little tighter. “Jesse and I are engaged.”

It felt like ripping the bandage away from his surgery incision: quick, painfully tingly, and with the possibility of there being a mess to clean away in response to his actions.

Holly was the first to react.

And maybe “react” was an understatting way to describe how the glop of rhubarb and pie filling fell from her mouth in amused astonishment before she was grinning and hopping up and down in her seat.

“Engaged to be _married_?” Holly said. “Can I be the flower girl? No actually, can I be the ring burrier? I’ll promise to remember where I buried the ring before I give it to you on the pillow!”

She’d worked herself up so much she was actually standing on her chair now as everyone else sat speechless.

“ _Ooh_ , I changed my mind! I want to be the preacher!” She cleared her throat. “Dear and beloved, we gather today to honor the…marriage...of my Daddy and Jesse…Pinkyman.”

He laughed and so did Jesse, but it didn’t get much of a response from the rest of the peanut gallery. Jesse opened his mouth as if to gently correct her when she started making more excited “ _Ooh_ ” sounds and holding her face in utter bewilderment.

“ _Wait_ if you guys are married that means I might get a baby brother or sister!”

“Holly,” Walt said with a patient smile. He knew she was a little too young for the Merriam-Webster length explanation of the birds and the bees, but an abridged version seemed somewhat necessary. “Jesse and I can’t…we can’t have a baby because Jesse and—”

Holly gasped. “Is there something wrong with Jesse’s tummy?”

“Holly, let’s sit down now,” Skyler said from beside their daughter. “I know you’re happy, but we don’t stand on the furniture, remember?”

Holly was nodding sheepishly as she made her way back down and there was a hushed exchange between them that Walt only heard soft bits of “Mommies and Daddies” and “Two Daddies” and Jesse elbowed him.

He smirked, speaking quietly, “Yo, why am _I_ the one with the baby in my belly?”

Holly giggled and whispered quiet loudly, “Because you’re prettier than Daddy.” She laughed hysterically at a joke only she seemed privy to. “Jesse, you’re going to look so funny and _cute_ with a big belly!”  

Apparently Skyler hadn’t gotten too far into her talk, smiling and shushing Holly and going back to their conversation as Holly began eating her slice of pie again.

Hank coughed, pressed his lips together with his eyebrows raised. “Walt, you sure this is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” Walt said. He traced his thumb up and down the inside of Jesse’s wrist because the boy was shaking now. And while he didn’t want to sound overly simplistic, there was little he felt he needed to share to sum up his decision. “I love him.”

Jesse was staring down at his plate, posture eerily similar to Walt Jr.’s from the opposite end of the dining room aside from the fact that Jesse was endearingly biting back a smile. Walt Jr. was the epitome of stony silence, sipping his Schraderbräu, appearing perturbed even from what little Walt could see of his bangs and blinking eyelashes with the rest of his face mostly out of sight.

Hank took a swig of his own beer. “Well, you know I’d _love_ to take a cherry red ’76 Corvette for a spin. Hell, I’d even consider leasing one. But just because I like sticking my key in the ignition doesn’t mean I’m gonna go and hitch myself to it for the next—”

There seemed to be some sort of physical exchange under the table between Marie and Hank. Walt’s sister-in-law only made one swift move of her leg across from Hank, but her husband was wincing and banging his knee into the table, and Walt could only imagine what a woman like Marie was capable of in those heels she’d been stalking around on.

“What I meant to say is, I’m…we’re,” Hank looked at Marie, “happy for you guys. I’m not gonna say I understand it, and that offer for a CAT scan, full expenses paid, is still on the table, Walt. But, uh…it’s good seeing you…you know…not miserable.”

Walt was pretty sure everyone heard pointed-shoe meet shin bone this time as Hank hissed in pain and grimaced again with a gritted out, “ _Jesus Christ, Marie_.” Even Holly was peering underneath the table in confused alarm.

Marie smiled, adjusting her hair and the baby in her arms. “Jesse, I’d just like to say for the _both_ of us, welcome to the family. And please don’t listen to my D-I-P-S-H-I-T of a husband.” She lowered her voice. “We can still spell things, right?”

“Yes, Marie,” Skyler said, smiling as well. She wiped her lips with one of the autumn-leafed napkins on the table as her gaze settled on Walt. It was the most serene he’d seen her in ages. “It means a lot to me that you felt you could share this with us. I don’t think anyone in this room could honestly deny how happy you are. If circumstances were different…I might warn my replacement about how you can be a bit of an A-S-S, but I think Jesse is pretty prepared for that.”

Skyler was being facetious, eyebrows up, and chuckling good-naturedly with Jesse, and it really warmed Walt to have the old Skyler back, even if he didn’t completely deserve her. She always had this low-key way of hers of decompressing tension in social settings and he didn’t think he was ever as grateful for that particular talent as he was now. The restless knot he’d been carrying around in his chest from the moment they parked the car in the driveway even loosened to a degree.

“I’ve b-been seeing s-somebody,” Walt Jr. said, head still down. He was silent so long and eyeing his plate with enough concentration it was as if he were trying to mentally spell out what he was attempting to get across in pie crust crumbs. His gaze lifted only momentarily in his mother’s direction. “It’s been s-since senior y-year of high school. I’m d-dating…Louis.”

Walt was stunned.

And maybe he was even more so stunned that part of him _wasn’t_ stunned about this new information seamlessly clicking together with the old. For as long as Walt could remember, Junior and Louis had been inseparable. They were both attending the same university, sharing an apartment together with Ryan or Robert or something or other, and Walt had no qualms at all with his son’s sexuality. He liked to think that staying close to Louis may have indeed been a more crucial factor for moving across the county than distancing himself from Walt. It was a selfish thought, especially once Walt recognized the telltale heavy-breathing that indicated Walt Jr. was crying.

Before Walt could even fully push his chair back, Skyler had beaten him to it, standing behind Junior with a comforting hand on the back of his neck. Walt cautiously stepped over anyway to lend his own reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. He wanted to articulate something along the lines of how he accepted Junior regardless of who he wanted to share his time with, to share his heart with, to share his life with. But, Holly was bulldozing past him and raising Junior’s arm to clear herself a spot on her brother’s lap.  

She took a moment to simply sit there patiently with her head on his chest before saying anything.

“Flynn, why are you sad?” Holly was ducking down, forcing him to look at her, and it wasn’t much of a leap to see a tiny, crafty, compassionate genius within that poufy-skirted exterior. “Louis is funny and has cute hair and he’s your most bestest friend. If you guys are boyfriends then you should be _so_ happy, and you can watch sports games with him and then…kiss too.”

She snickered and Hank even chuckled along with her and added, “Well, when you spin it that way,” which was interrupted when Marie lightly smacked the back of his head as she handed off Hank Numero Two in route to hug Junior.

“Esmerelda is squishing me,” Holly said, sounding winded in the middle of the embrace.

And Junior was laughing. “U-uncle Hank, y-you got something to s-say about that?”

It was a light-hearted question, another shared dig at Marie’s naming insistence, but Walt knew even Hank could read the subtext there.

Appearing somewhat uncomfortable and contemplative, he raised his non-cradling arm in a surrendering shrugging motion with his head a little tilted. “I’m cool.”  

“Cool?” Walt Jr. said.

But, Junior smiled, looking through his family surrounding him to Jesse who was giving him his own supportive though apprehensive smile. While Junior’s expression dimmed somewhat, a degree of anger still present in his features, there was definitely the slightest of nods from Junior before he was glancing away.

The coffeemaker beeped.

“Yo, I got it,” Jesse said, already standing, teetering on his sneakers, rubbing at his elbow. He was adorably fidgety and Walt dearly wanted to kiss the anxiety away the second they were alone again. “Anybody like want anything ‘sides coffee?”

“C-can I get another beer?” Walt Jr. said.

Jesse scratched the back of his neck. “For sure, yeah, totally. Any other takers on that?”

Hank seemed to begrudgingly raise his hand.

Holly was raising hers too. “Can I have some more whip cream _please_?”

Jesse gave her a knowing sort of grin. “You uh…wanna help me find that, Buddy?”

She nodded energetically and slipped through the adults around her to dart right into the kitchen, and Walt had no doubt in his mind that ‘wanna help me find that’ was code for dispensing said dairy treat straight from canister into her happy, giggling mouth. Jesse took another look around the table before smiling at Walt and following Holly. The room was silent only temporarily before they could all hear the incriminating, foaming, almost scrunching sound of the aerosol can and Holly’s muffled laughter.

Walt felt a hand patting his softly. Junior seemed to be putting a lot of effort into giving him even minimum eye contact, but it was something. He understood the two of them wouldn’t exactly be visiting any go-kart tracks with Jesse anytime soon. Though, it still felt like a step in the right direction. It was something. Walt could work with something.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I could have just paired this with the last scene since I have the last one done though not totally edited but this had a lot of actual father/son stuff which I didn't want to put together with such strong Daddy kink right after haha. I hope Walt Jr. coming out wasn't too incredibly random. When you awesome people asked for more I couldn't help but want to tie up that loose end/fractured relationship with a happy ribbon :) The last scene is mostly sexy times and should be up shortly. Thank you so much for your comments!


	7. Bonus Scene 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the final bonus scene! Sorry it took so long. I was having laptop issues. This is the most over-the-top I've ever gone with Daddy kink on here, but that seemed to be what people wanted to read haha so I hope you guys like it. Thanks for the comments :)

Jesse would have to admit that today wasn’t _as_ fucking awkward as it could have been, for sure. But it was still all kinds of awesome being home again.

He had straight-up kissed the front door before walking into the like familiar comfort of their living room that was super clean ever since Mr. White talked Jesse into moving his side carpentry projects into the spare room off the kitchen to keep his work separate. Mr. White had a small office upstairs. And Jesse was glad they’d decided on this two-story house ‘cause it was a good price and in a neighborhood that was a little nicer than Walt’s old one and kind of less soccer-mom than Jesse’s parent’s suburb. Like, they got a Home Owner’s Association, but that group of like walking sweater vests only sent out shit about three times a year and one of those was a Holiday card. A lot of old people lived on their street and a few couples, and no one in the last four years had given them any shit about being two dudes who lived with each other.

He and Mr. White both had about a half hour commute to work and the ice cream truck like always stopped on their street in the summers and they even had a park a few blocks over. It had walking paths and a field and this sort of secluded bench they’d done some pretty messed up shit on when Jesse would wake up nauseous and jittery in the middle of the night with those sudden like out-of-the-blue itches to relapse again. He’d go out for a smoke and Mr. White would find him a few minutes later, looking sort of tired but like actually sympathetic and definitely horny when he’d tug Jesse’s boxers down and get Jesse in his lap. And if somebody had told Jesse six years ago that he’d fuck in a dude in a park, riding him on a bench in just a shirt, sneakers with no socks, and boxers half-way down his thighs under the like glow of a light post filtering through the branches above them, sweat on his back cooling in the breeze as he moaned out “ _Daddy_ ,” he would have fucking punched that somebody in the face. But, six years ago Jesse also used to drive a car with his fucking cook name as his license plate number and wear jeans six sizes too big and he like never thought the only thing straight about him would be how he was clean from crystal.

Jesse was totally happy with Mr. White and living here too. Yeah, it had been pretty painful and shitty having to hand Aunt Ginny’s house back over to his parents to sell. It’d been sort of a peace offering that hadn’t worked out at all since his mom only called him like bi-annually to make sure he wasn’t dead. It was whatever. Jesse had moved on.

He’d fucking moved into a beautiful home with a man who was like really affectionate even when he was being a total grouch, and Jesse was pretty sure Mr. White liked their place just as much as Jesse did. They had real high ceilings and these cool barstools by the kitchen island where they liked to have dinners ‘cause breakfasts were usually grab-and-go, thermoses-of-coffee, and quick-kisses-goodbye sort of stuff. And holy shit was their master-bathroom shower _huge_.

Yeah, so after today, Jesse was pretty like relieved to be home. It was nice being in bed, down on his hands and knees, nothing on him but Mr. White’s tongue licking the pre-come off the insides of his legs from behind.

Jesse couldn’t like explain it or whatever but he was leaking like a fucking broken faucet, inner thighs wet like a chick’s, and Mr. White was like meticulously dabbing up every last drop.

“Messy boy,” Mr. White said, still lapping away almost fucking hypnotically.

Jesse moaned as he dripped onto the comforter that hadn’t even been kicked down. And having the bed still neat and shit and Mr. White’s fancy extra pillows not thrown on the floor and the way Mr. White had basically jerked all of Jesse’s clothes off in their living room made Jesse feel dizzy and hard and like Daddy wanted him right _now_.  

The only rumpled up places Jesse could see were where he was gripping onto the blanket, gunmetal-silver engagement ring glinting from his finger where Mr. White had carefully slid it there and started like immediately stroking Jesse between his legs. And while Jesse was completely into everything they were doing, he was kind of too drained to give his all into being innocently in-character. He licked his lips as he felt another trickle down his shaft.

“Yo, I wanna spanking,” Jesse said. He arched his back even though Mr. White was holding him in place ‘cause he didn’t want Jesse low enough to rub one out on the mattress. “Spank me, Daddy.”

“But, you’ve been _such_ a good boy,” Mr. White said.

His hand was already on Jesse’s ass, palming him warm and teasing his fingers up and down the crevice back there.

“ _Please, Daddy_ ,” Jesse moaned.

“So sweet and polite," was all Mr. White said.

Jesse got a hard smack on the ass, pain and pleasure sensors triggering off in him like the blips of a fucking old school Pac Man game. Daddy wasn’t taking it easy on him. Mr. White spanked him like he was mad. Jesse guessed the dude was kind of letting out some of that repressed anger shit he’d like lugged around for so long, and this was like a way better outlet than making crystal meth and killing people. Nobody died and Jesse was having killer orgasms, so it was a win-win for everybody.

He wasn’t sure if the guy changed up his angle or something but in the next _whack_ Jesse could feel the hot, hard metal of Mr. White’s ring ‘cause he had of course gotten himself one too, and it hurt so damn awesome Jesse almost came right there. It felt like how he’d imagined the smooth sting of a belt buckle to feel like, even though Mr. White never allowed anything but his hands, saying, “I don’t want to hurt you, Son,” even as Jesse was begging for the belt beneath him.

Jesse smiled to himself, loving how his skin was starting to welt up from where the ring was hitting him over and over and over again.

Then Mr. White’s hand was groping him again, chest on his back, goatee by his ear.

“Want to turn around now? Show Daddy how ready you are for him?”

Jesse nodded even though he didn’t want this part of the night to be over already. He knew he wasn’t going to last much more of this. It was like how he knew he wouldn’t be doing any of the actual turning around since Daddy always did it for him, manipulating him with big, strong hands on Jesse’s waist until Jesse was on his back, looking up into the dimness of the room, walls a soothing, matte navy color. They’d agreed on the shade like right away. Jesse liked it ‘cause it reminded him of the night sky and he had his suspicions that Mr. White was into how it made the room feel sort of small ‘cause Mr. White definitely dug getting Jesse as close and tucked up into him as fucking possible. And the dude might as well have been a fucking constellation ‘cause Jesse loved looking at him hovering large and hairy and owning the fuck out of their cozy-as-shit, little bedroom, looking maybe hotter with his glasses off since Jesse was one of the few people who got to see him like that, and he was totally well-endowed even though Jesse tried not to stroke the guy’s already hung as hell ego too much. 

He hoped Mr. White appreciated how rigid and red he was and how he was spreading his thighs as wide as they’d fucking go.

“Be a good boy and lift your legs,” Mr. White said.

Jesse was totally happy to hike his knees up almost to his chin, leaving himself open and kind of vulnerable and throbbing.

Mr. White leaned over to the top drawer of the nightstand where they kept the handcuffs and clamps and like a shit ton of stuff made out of silicone. Uncapping the lube, he started to slick himself up with a lazy sort of grin.

“You want to watch Daddy get ready?”

The dude was already hard as the shower rod they didn’t have ‘cause their motherfucking luxury shower had one of those frosted glass doors that Jesse had at one time only seen on MTV. But, Jesse nodded again anyway ‘cause there was no way in hell he was missing out on a show like this.

Daddy always liked to start slow when he played with himself, even and steady strokes just focusing on the shaft until he finally grazed his fingertips against the head and moaned out gruff. Then his fist got tighter but he kept up his languid pace even as he was sort of humping his own hand. Walter H. White: composed, and batshit needy and unstable at the same damn time. 

Nodding to his glazed-up cock, Mr. White said, “Would you like Daddy to share?”

Jesse didn’t have enough time to answer. He squirmed a little when Mr. White grabbed Jesse’s hips and started gliding his dick up and down Jesse’s opening super slow and heavy. With every slick slide, Jesse could feel another like pre-contraction fluttering thing go on as all of those nerve endings on the outside were just soaking this in and making Jesse fucking crazy. Groaning, Daddy slipped in just the head, let it open Jesse up so good, pulse there before gingerly pulling back out, and it was like he was prepping Jesse with like the most torture ever.

“Daddy’s being mean,” Jesse said.

But his words weren’t like super effective when Mr. White wrapped his hands around Jesse’s balls, thumbing them, still rubbing his cock against that tender spot where Jesse wanted him the most.

Jesse couldn’t help but start like writhing around ‘cause he couldn’t take this shit anymore. Daddy really was being _so_ mean and Jesse had been _so_ good, eating all of his green bean casserole, and letting Daddy buckle his seatbelt for him, and saying naughty, big boy things that Daddy liked on the car ride home.

Mr. White pulled back a little, hands framing Jesse’s outer thighs, just admiring how Jesse was whining and trying to buck himself forward.

And Jesse felt very naughty when he traced the edge of his ring against the slit of Daddy’s wet prick. He may have blinked like a little more than necessary. “Are you ready to be inside me, Daddy?”

Mr. White hardened even more against Jesse’s skin, the rest of his body getting super rigid, mouth going slack and Jesse knew what was gonna happen. He parted his legs more just as Mr. White groaned and spurted warm on Jesse’s dick and Daddy was shaking all over.

It felt slick and filthy and deliciously awesome. And when Jesse got another little burst on his taint, he whimpered and came _so_ good and hard. It was coming out of him in these long pulses and Jesse had never felt like he was _this_ greased up and covered in come.

“Just like Daddy,” Mr. White moaned, gently grinding their dicks together in the last of the tremors.

It wasn’t until Mr. White had cleaned them both up and slumped down with his hand gingerly soothing circles into the hot, flush skin of Jesse’s ass with his other arm laying across him that Jesse made a point of glancing down.

“Yo,” Jesse said, sounding sleepy and satisfied even to himself. “Keep this up and I’m like never getting pregnant.”

Mr. White actually fucking laughed at that. Like, he didn’t scoff or snicker or even just sort of half-ass chuckle. He was laughing so hard, the bed was quaking like a puddle in a _Jurassic_ _Park_ movie.

He smiled at Jesse, lacing the fingers of their left hands together where their rings rubbed metal against metal in a way that made Jesse sort of shiver.

“We’ll have to work on it,” Mr. White said.

And Jesse was super happy that neither of them had to go to work tomorrow so they could work on it as long as they could like stay conscious. He guessed some people liked to spend their Black Fridays shopping while others wanted to eat leftover sweet potato casserole in bed and have tons of orgasms. And like fuck waiting in line for a five dollar iPhone or free X-Box ‘cause Jesse would pick that second option every damn time.  

Mr. White kissed him, real soft and sweet and Jesse touched the back of Mr. White’s scalp how the guy liked it just as Jesse was getting pulled in even closer to his broad, comfy chest.  

It felt so fucking good to be home.     


End file.
